Reunion
by BreathSlowAndHeavy
Summary: Post Reichenbach. Sherlock finally returns, but has John driven himself too far into insanity too believe it real?
1. Chapter 1

John sat there, casting his mind back to the time he was happy, back when Sherlock still walked, back when he was alive and real. Now all he saw was images of Sherlock that his mind had created. 3 years to this day since Sherlock had taken that fall over the hospital, after he left John alone, to wither away. At least that's how John felt. His phone was filled with unsent messages addressed to Sherlock. He could never work up the courage to send one. He couldn't face not receiving a reply, only proving more how un-real Sherlock had become, how he was only part of the past now. He picked his phone up, sat in Sherlock's chair, curled up in his own jumpers. He'd long ago stopped wearing Sherlock's dressing gown. He told himself it was because he had moved on, but he knew the truth, no matter how much he feared to admit it. It just didn't have that Sherlock smell anymore. He was reading through his texts, wondering how people would think of him if they saw he was texting a dead man. John never really believed he was dead, deep down he knew it was true. The images of Sherlock walking through the streets had caused him to go back to his psychiatrist. He saw Sherlock everywhere, but he was dead. Lost in thought he was caused to jump when his phone buzzed. Not many people texted him now, only Mycroft occasionally to tell him he was keeping his eye on him. Expecting the same he sighed and opened the text.

_John, I'm coming home. –SH_

At first John was stunned, receiving a text from the dead man he wished to be alive every day. For a moment he believes it true. He was excited, his flatmate was alive he was texting him. John hadn't felt this good in 3 years, that was until he realised what was going on. He felt his heart drop and fill with anger. This was a cruel trick to play. He sat in thought for a minute, attempting to compose a reply. Something clever, something to play back with, but he just ended up upsetting himself. Cursing himself for believing that Sherlock could actually be alive. " I took his pulse for God's sake, there wasn't one!". He couldn't reply with a smart comeback, in fact he couldn't think of anything at all. He was upset and angry. He was suffering enough without this aggravation and torment.

_Who is this? Stop joking and leave me alone- JW _

John couldn't deal with this now, he couldn't deal with it any time. There was rarely a day when he smiled, if he did it was forced out for the benefits of others. How could he smile when his best friend had killed himself over some silly game? His phone buzzed again, he was nervous this time, not sure what to expect.

_John, it is me. I am sorry. –SH_

He knew this person wouldn't give up. John knew he was in for a long night.

_Who is 'me'? Please just stop this. –JW _

He couldn't help but beg, the emotions inside him started to dwell on him again. Another text came through, almost instantly. The same number. He put his phone down and went to make a cup of tea. Two cups taken down from the cupboard, one heavy sigh, a fight to push back the tears, and one cup placed back in the cupboard. He could hear his phone going off, once, twice, three times...

The kettle boiled and he made his tea and walked back into the room. As he sat back down in Sherlock's chair the phone went off again. Four texts. Preparing himself for what he knew to be a torturous night he opened the texts.

_Sherlock, it's me John! Do you not see it is me! –SH_

Ha. Likely, why not play along John, play the broken hearted best friend. Give this sick bastard his kicks.The next texts he read one after the other, no thought or break between. Why he did this he did not know.

_Do you remember the time we played cluedo? –SH_

_And you lost your temper with me because the rules were wrong? –SH_

_We got into an argument –SH_

Oh... oh my god he thought to himself. How would they, how would they know this. There's no way anybody could know about this, this was an evening in, in a dry spell as John liked to call it. Sherlock hadn't had a case in week and was unbearable. " If only I could have known how we would end up, I would have enjoyed his quirks more." He started his reply. He started to believe it was Sherlock. That maybe, just maybe there was a chance he was alive.

_Oh my god. It's really you, isn't it? –JW_

The texts came through before he had even sent his reply. He wasn't sure what to make of himself, what started off as what he thought to be a cruel sick joke, was rapidly turning into false hope. His mind cast back to that day, started looking into it in more detail, trying to find any possible way he had survived.

_Now the board is stuck to the wall with a knife? –SH_

Not convincing, many people paid visits to the flat, it wasn't exactly something hard to spot. He wasn't convinced, but still the hope grew in him. He tries to fight it, push it down. He doesn't want to be let down again, he doesn't want to lose Sherlock twice. Especially when he hadn't even got him back.

_John Watson, it's me. Sherlock Holmes –SH_

_I'm alive. I am sorry –SH_

There was no way around that. Either somebody's really done their research into our history and studied Sherlock. But that day he saw Sherlock fall he had stood there on the phone as Sherlock handed him his note, stood there as that body fell to the ground, ran to the ground where he lay, surrounded by people. The blood covered corpse that had no pulse. The pulse that John Watson himself had searched for. He didn't want to believe anymore, all of a sudden he wanted it to be true. For Sherlock to just be dead, and not be in this situation. He hated himself for saying that. He had to believe, he'd believed for three years, driven himself insane over the thoughts going over in his mind.

_How can this be? I saw you fall! I checked your pulse! –JW_

This time the text took a while to come through. He still wasn't convinced it was Sherlock. Sherlock had died, right in front of his eyes. There's no way he could have survived that fall. ' But then again. It was Sherlock...'

The text finally came through, two at once. They had been delayed. Both at once, he read them straight away, read them as one.

_It was a trick John! I told you to keep your eye on me but you didn't! –SH_

_John, I died for you. I died because I care for you, but I'm coming back. I'm alive –SH_

Caring? There's no way this could be Sherlock, he didn't care for any one. John wasn't sure what to make of this or himself. Thoughts rushing through his head, he couldn't type out the reply. Not yet, he knew what to say, but he had to think it through. Think it all through. Caring isn't like Sherlock, but the random nature and bluntness in which this information was being told, no one else would do this. No one else would die for three years and declare their existence through text. No one's that thoughtless. Sherlock was alive.

_No, no. This isn't real. –JW_

The next couple of texts came through almost instantaneously. John barely had time to think, or make heads and tails of things.

_I've missed you John, and your jumpers. –SH_

_John, this is real. Remember what I've always said to you? –SH_

John raked his brains, trying to remember. There wasn't anything, this was all happening much too quickly, and the chance of it still being a prank was high. He wasn't willing to make a fool of himself by allowing himself to believe. But still, curiosity got the better of him.

_What? –JW_

_Remove all the factors, and whatever remains, however impossible, must be true –SH_

Again, John's mind flashed back to times Sherlock had said this, causing him to follow Sherlock blindly, maybe he should grant this one more time, more texts came through before he even had time to decide.

_John. I am alive. Please, believe me –SH_

_How can I prove to you this is real –SH_

John was fully aware that this could be a hallucination again. He was scared more than anything, he was hoping that this could be Sherlock. That he could be alive, that maybe just maybe this wasn't fake, or a cruel joke, or his mind playing tricks because he couldn't cope with the death of Sherlock. How could Sherlock prove to John he was alive and that this was real. Sherlock was stood outside 221 B, his coat turned up against the wind. He wouldn't go in to visit the doctor until he was sure it was safe. He couldn't put the doctor through more trauma then needed. He wasn't even going about this very well. But it was either this or just turning up, and even Sherlock knew turning up wasn't a wise idea. He had to convince John he was alive first. Convince him he wasn't mental and that this was actually happening. His fingers froze in the cold, but he would sit here in the weather. It was the least he could do for John after the 3 years he had put him through. Sherlock still wasn't aware of the full extent to which he had ruined Doctor John Watson.


	2. Chapter 2

He sat there, waiting for the doctors reply. Sherlock was willing to do anything to come back. The wind cut through his jacket, chilling him to the bone whilst John sat up in the flat near the fire, hands trembling. Unwilling to believe what was happening, but wanting it to be more than anything. He had imagined this scenario a million times over in his head, each time requiring him 3 more appointments with his therapist. He had to reply, he had to.

_Tell me something only Sherlock would know –JW_

There were many things that everyone knew about them, like how John would always eat and Sherlock would not and how John would spend hours trying to get him to take care of himself. These things everyone knew. It had to be personal, something only himself and Sherlock had been through, done together. He cast his mind back, trying to remember things that would have happened. He had no idea that Sherlock was waiting outside, and he merely needed to open the door to prove this all reality. If he didn't have his limp he could have left the moment he clicked send, walked to door and opened it to see the phone go off in Sherlock's hand. He would have seen how the smile emerged on his face, knowing the memory he was going to use, knowing it was one they both laughed about time and time again. He would see how Sherlock stood against the cold wind, and the rain that started to fall soaking him, he would see how he stood here waiting for him. His phone went off in his hand again, and again, and again. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. This could all be saved if he only walked downstairs he would see Sherlock chuckling to himself over this little fact.

_You shout at chip and pin machines- SH_

_You are an amazing friend –SH_

_The day I died. The last thing you said to me 'you are a machine' –SH_

If only John had walked to the door, he would have seen how those words still stung Sherlock. He would have seen the pain from that moment relive in his eyes. John sat there bemused. These things he said... those words. No one else was in that lab the moment he said it. Those words he had hated himself for saying to Sherlock, for being the last thing he said to him, for it being a pure lie. There's no way this could be real though, actually real. This had to be a strong hallucination. It had to be, he had watched Sherlock fall, watched him die. Yet as he sat there he knew, he knew at the bottom of his heart that no one but himself and Sherlock knew of these. That compliment, Sherlock reiterating himself after that case with the dog.

_Stop... Sherlock? Is it really you? –JW_

Sherlock felt himself smile, he knew he had gotten through to John, knew he was nearly there. He had to be honest though, he had to tell him how these times hadn't been easy on himself. He wanted to go up now, and hold the doctor, tell him he was alright, that everything was alright now. He wanted to stop John shaking as he was now, cure him of that awful limp. He wanted to wipe away those tears from his face, for once Sherlock had no idea what was going on.

_Those words hurt John. From any other persons mouth it wouldn't have hurt, but from yours... John you mean so much to me. I died for you, and I would die for you again –SH_

Sherlock could feel the tears build, remembering why he had done this. Why had protected John. He knew John had no idea, that he had never had the smallest idea of how much he had been through for him. John sat up in his chair, feeling these words hit home. He read that text over and over again. Trying to make sense of it, the questions that formed from it. All the underlying contents of the words. John had no idea how to react. He knew Sherlock was alive; this was all too... private to be fake. The texts where to formatted to be his mind creating this up. He couldn't go through this again, if this really were Sherlock, he couldn't go through this again. The rain got heavier against the window, and he wondered where Sherlock was texting him all of this. He hoped he was safe.

_Don't ever die again –JW_

John was shaking worse than ever now. Sherlock was alive, and he was talking to him. This wasn't a trick, he needed to know where he was. As John sat there debating about what to do, Sherlock struggled to text back to him, the rain falling on his phone causing his screen to becoming wet, his gloves were soaked, and he had no dry clothing on him. The wind now stronger cut through him worse than before, yet he refused to move. He would not enter until John was ready, but this was painful. Standing in this weather, standing out here, so close to John, so close to finishing this plan. Sherlock managed to wipe the rain drops off the screen, he was shivering. His reply was re-written many times before there were no spelling mistakes, or double letters. This all had to be perfect, he couldn't seem weaker in his absence. The words that John had sent ran through his head repeatedly. He still didn't understand, Sherlock was upset and angry, how could John not have worked out it was all for him. He couldn't help but snap slightly at Johns words.

_Moriarty... he...he had a sniper on you. He... unless I died, he would have you shot. John I couldn't let you die. –SH_

_I died to save you, can't you understand that! –SH_

Sherlock was shaking he was angry, the weather worsening, if he was paying more attention he would have noticed the thunder slowly starting to make itself known. John mean while took his words as a relief, it was all the conformation he needed. Admittedly he was a little taken aback, he wasn't aware that Sherlock had done all this for him, that he was willing to do this for him. Yet the mention of Moriarty made everything fall into place. It all made sense now. This really, one hundred percent was Sherlock Holmes and he was alive. He didn't care how Sherlock had done it, but he survived.

_Moriarty... I should have known. –JW_

He tapped the words out much easier than Sherlock. His fingers were slowly losing feeling, the blood circulation cutting out from the extremities to keep the important organs working. He knew he had to get into warmth soon, yet he refused to go in, this had to be done properly. Sherlock could barely feel the phone beneath his fingers as he tapped out he question he needed answering more than anything. He needed his only friend to still believe in him.

_Do you believe me? Do you believe it is me john? –SH_

Sherlock held his breath as he waited for the reply, hi whole body shaking visibly now. The weather getting the better of him,. He huddled against the wall, gaining the little protection it gave from the wind and rain, the thunder fully audible now. Sherlock looked up, his arms crossed, lightening would arriving soon. He had to hurry this up. Yet John was unaware of the situation Sherlock was in, he had no idea he was baring himself to the weather. He knew it was Sherlock, he always had, he had never stopped believing, he wrote his reply quicker than he expected. He didn't even think twice about the answer, he knew it whatever was to happen. It would always hold true.

_Yes, Sherlock. It must be you. It can only be you. It has to be you. –JW_

Sherlock released his breath, he had the relief he needed, he was so close to coming home, so very close. He could no longer feel his feet, the leather shoes held no protection against the storm. He was so close to coming home. Having a good cup of tea with John. Pretending to be bored just to gain his attention.

_Oh thank God. John, when can I came back? Mrs. Hudson isn't aware I'm alive... –SH_

This was true, he couldn't enter the flat if Mrs. Hudson was home, the sight of him alive would be enough to give her a heart attack, he couldn't do that to her. John sat there bewildered, he was too shocked to reply. Sherlock grew impatient, the weather making him more irritable than his usual self. He had to hurry Johns reply along.

_John? Can I come home? –SH_

The first flash of lightening filled the sky.


	3. Chapter 3

The flash caught Johns eye as he looked outside, wondering if Sherlock was safe and hidden from the weather. The almost childlike question brought a smile to his mouth, it almost reached his eyes.

_Yes. And that's an order- JW_

Sherlock smiled at the answer, John was accepting his presence now. He was so close to being able to enter the apartment and hold John. There was a few more thing's that needed revealing first though. The weather worsened, the wind blew worse and the rain was heavy, Sherlock had no protection against the weather, his clothes soaked through. He supposed it was the lack of warmth in him that caused him to act like he did, but he let his sentimental side win over him.

_I've missed you. –SH_

It was true, Sherlock had missed John, yet he couldn't explain why he felt compelled to tell him. It was useless information to him, yet to John it meant the world. Sherlock had finally came home, after three years of being dead. John was mad of course, but the emotion declared by Sherlock was so rare that John couldn't ignore it. The lightning flashed again and John became more worried for Sherlocks wellbeing.

_I've...I've missed you too. You don't even know –JW_

John was only telling the truth, he had missed Sherlock dearly. He had gone through a lot of pain, never accepting that Sherlock was dead. He couldn't face the truth that the world existed without him. John had grown accustomed to life with Sherlock, so much that he couldn't readjust. He would go out on cases with Lestrade, talking to an invisible man beside him. At first everyone was worried for John, he was actually seeing Sherlock in his eyes, yet he managed to solve the crimes himself. There worries died down. Selfishness and greed comes before many things, fame, glory and praise come before someone's mental health.

Sherlock received the text. Barely able to read due to the rain covering his phone. If he wasn't careful it would stop working and he would have to enter the house before John was ready. Thunder rumbled and he looked up towards the sky, squinting against the rain falling. He knew he had to hurry up or he would fall ill and this would all be a waste of time. He'd gone long enough without John, he wasn't prepared to waste any more time. He's fingers were cold, and he could barely feel them, yet he pushed through this and replied. Enough sentiment he thought to himself. He had to admit a few facts without John in his presence. It just made things easier.

_I've watched you, you've even spoken to me a couple of times. But you never knew it was me. –SH_

His typing was slow, slower than Johns. He had barely pressed send before another text came through from John, he opened it and smiled. John never doubted the limit to his intelligence.

_Or do you? –JW_

Even throughout everything, John still believed that Sherlock had a heart somewhere. Sherlock knew that John had understood how much he had suffered as well.

When John received the text, saying he had spoken to Sherlock in the past 3 years, his breath caught in his throat. This had to be a lie, he would have recognised Sherlock. It was impossible to miss him he thought to himself.

"No, there's no way... I was looking for him everywhere I went... I couldn't have missed him" John had grown accustomed to speaking to himself, allowing his thoughts to roam freely without Sherlock around. While he was talking to himself, debating about the possibility he could have missed him, another text came through from Sherlock. The timings between the texts were increasing. John was starting to worry about Sherlock and what was causing this delay.

_I helped you one, with the chip and pin machine –SH_

John remembered a man who had helped him once. He was nearly breaking down. It was 6 months after Sherlocks death and he hadn't moved on from it. The machine wasn't working, and John never worked out how to use it. Sherlock had seen John like this and walked over and helped him, saving him from the near mental breakdown.

"But that man was nothing like Sherlock, only his height." He whispered to himself, this was too much. Never in his life would he have missed Sherlock.

John didn't believe the words he was being told. His hands were shaking, in fact his entire body was shaking.

_That was you? –JW_

Sherlock was now freezing, he could barely feel or control the extremities of his body. He couldn't bare himself to this weather for much longer. He was aware that John wasn't fully ready for his visual appearance, yet his health was determined by the speed of which he could convince John to accept him back into his life. He would have to send this in parts, it would be too much to read as one message. It would be too much for John. He pulled his already soaked clothing around him more, turning the coat collar up again after the wind had blown it down, trying to protect himself from the worsening weather. He scolded himself for not checking the weather before deciding to reveal his self to John. He knew John deserved an explanation. He started typing the message out, at a considerably slower speed than usual. The blood wasn't flowing to his fingers anymore.

_Do you remember? The man with the ginger hair? And that horrible clothing? –SH_

John opened the text and cast his mind back. He remembered the ginger haired man, he was kind. John started to reply, but the phone kept going off. He wouldn't have a chance to reply. The tears started springing to his eyes again, realising the full extent of how alone he'd been without Sherlock, as to just how much he missed him. The texts came through quickly.

_I looked out for you. –SH_

_When you were short on money I found a way to transfer mine to you. –SH_

John knew that when he was short on money a small amount would enter his account, enough to see him through. He'd always assumed it was Mycroft. The first time it had happened he had gone to the bank and tried everything he could to find where the money had came from. He refused to speak to Mycroft anymore. It was too much, hearing the way he had accepted and moved on from the death of Sherlock so easily, as if he had never existed. Mycroft had believed the papers, believed the lies. John could never forgive him for that.Nothing John could imagine, would prepare him for what Sherlock was to say next. Even Sherlock was not aware of what brought him to say this, to admit this... humanistic character out of him. Yet he felt an incredible tightness in his stomach as he pressed send.

_I've never stopped thinking about you John. –SH_

John was taken aback, yet relieved. His best friend hadn't forgotten about him. The guilt set in, he remembered the night he had drunk too much alcohol. He had wanted to forget Sherlock, forget everything about him, he wanted to move on. He had put himself in hospital trying. The phone went off in his hand again, the tears falling freely down his face now.

_I'm on my way John. –SH_

He couldn't take it anymore; he had so many things to say to Sherlock, but no words to show them with. He was speechless. Sherlock was alive and coming home. His best friend was coming back, and he couldn't believe it. The smile never quite reached his eyes though, Sherlock had been dead. If he was willing to do this once, he was capable of doing it again. John didn't have the emotional and mental strength to make it through this again. He knew he had to reply, or Sherlock would never leave his phone alone, yet he had nothing to say. He typed the only word that was perching on the edge of his lips, silently kissing them.

_Sherlock... –JW_


End file.
